Ode To Power
Talus Kahar's House - Living Room - Crown's Refuge ---- ::Built mostly by his own hands, this is the first structure built by the exiled Emperor of Fastheld, Talus Kahar XIV, as a project to learn self-sufficiency among the denizens of the Wildlands. ::The main living room area is rather spacious, with room for a couch and several chairs. An L-shaped wooden counter divides this area from the kitchen and dining area. A door leads to his bedchamber. ---- Vhramis sits on one of the chairs in his house, most of the wounded having become well enough to relocate somewhere else, where they can care for themselves. He picks through a small pile of white berries, seperating bad ones. The door of the house creaks open only slightly, a pair of eyeballs staring in and surveying the room. Whether or not they are spotted, they quickly retreat and the door closes again. A few moments later the door spings open and Wilesly enters with a hesitant smile on his face, peering about the corner before greeting Vhramis with a nod. "Master Wolfsbane." Glancing up from the berries, Vhramis inspects Wilesly for a moment, before looking back down to his task. "Evening. You look on edge, tonight." The door to the bedroom creaks open, stays open for a moment, no eyeballs appearing to look through to check the content. In fact, for a moment, nothing is there. Then Dirk appears, the cover of the bed tossed over him as a makeshift cloak, the top forming a cowl over his face. "Well one never knows when a healer might spring out at you.", Wilesly murmurs, his eyes shifting over in the direction of the bedroom and granting the odd form of Dirk a smirk. "Master Wolfsbane have you your bow? I believe we may have an intruder." He chuckles lightly, and stands up straight to cross his arms over his chest. Vhramis twists about in his chair to look over to the bedroom door, blinking at the sight. "Is that my cover?" he asks, frowning faintly. "Don't get it overly dirty, please." "I won't leave the house with it." Dirk's voice, slightly muffled, answers from beneath the mask of shadows. "Is something happening?" Wilesly shifts his eyes in the direction of Silvan Dimrost. "Well that's still here.", Wilesly murmurs darkly to himself. He offers a shrug to the Dirk-like-figure and sends a questioning glance Vhramis' way. Vhramis sighs quietly and looks down to the fruit, apparently now disinterested enough in it to not wish to continue the effort in sorting. And so he looks back to Dirk. "Why are you wearing that, again?" "It's cold." Dirk saids, hooded head swinging back and forth. "This is warm, but it's boring laying around, and I'm healthy enough to stand now... so I came to see if anything was happening." "Well unless Master Wolfsbane has any other Light forsaken locations for us to tour I believe tonight may just end up being the quietest night of the expedition.", Wilesly says with a smile towards Dirk. "It's good to see you up and about again." "Count your blessings. Quiet is preferable," Vhramis reminds Wilesly, the man rising from the chair and carrying the berries over to a spot on the counter, folding the cloth over them. "Quiet is nice, particularly when our arrival was so loud." Dirk agrees, swinging his head to look at the Sivan, then back to the others. "Thanks, though. It's nice to be able to stand up without everything hurting." "Quiet usually is there to remind us that something big is in the works.", Wilesly in turn reminds Vhramis. "I fear it the most actually. One cannot anticipate where the blow is to land until one sees or hears it." He frowns soberly at the thought and helps himself to a seat, his eyes tracing Dirk's own glance to the Silvan. "Spending each hour in fearful anticipation is no way to live," murmurs the ranger in response. "If things will come, they'll come. We can only prepare. Like Master Dirk has. It /is/ a bit cold in here." "I can give you your cover back." Dirk takes a lone step away from the door, tossing the hood back absently, frowning. "Living in anticipation isn't such a bad way to live, though." "No, that's fine," Vhramis chuckles faintly. "One can't be blamed for being mindful of the future but Master Wolfsbane is correct. If one only worries about the future they miss all that goes on in the present.", Wilesly replies with an acknowledging nod. "Let it be quiet then." "Maybe I need to find more skins to line the house," Vhramis grunts, looking along the walls. "Or something to keep it warmer in here. I'm not too good at construction." "I'm not either." Dirk saids, rising one hand to touch the slowly healing wound on his face. "I tried it once when I was young, helping my dad. It was a disaster." Wilesly smirks lightly as if he can picture exactly how the disaster turned out. He offers a slight shrug to Vhramis and moves towards the window, peering out of it for a moment. "Help me find drafts," Vhramis asks of the pair. "Where the cold is leaking in the most, if you would. Maybe I can at least remedy it a bit now." "Um... sure?" Dirk saids, not sounding so sure himself. Wilesly moves his arms with a fair amount of flourish towards the window. "Draft number one, Master Wolfsbane.", Wilesly replies with a good humored chuckle. He leans in a bit as if to watch something particuarly interesting even though it is close to pitch black. "I mean the floor, corners, and walls," Vhramis rolls his eyes, sighing loudly. "It never ends," he mutters. "Sly, don't be an idiot." Dirk saids with a wrinkled nose at the leader of the expedition. Then he moves to one of the walls, going about checking. Wilesly sighs and brings his hand up to rub at his forehead and down his nose as if warding off a massive headache. "Humor has no place in the Wildlands.", Sly murmurs to himself. He moves to make a half-hearted effort at searching for drafts. Apparently not. At least with Vhramis in a surly mood, for whatever reason. The man wanders off to oe of the walls to do his own inspection, drawing off a glove and holding his hand out. Dirk slowly meanders along a wall, hand moving slowly up and down, side to side, and all around. Stop. Was that a brush of wind? No, obviously not. The miner searches on. It never does to leave a live Dragon out of the equation... ''From somewhere to the north of Crown's Refuge, shattering the silence of the usual cold and frigid night that has gripped the Wildlands at this time of year, a dull reverberation that for all intents and purposes can be related to the rumble of a coming storm. And yet each clap is evenly spaced, following a steady beat that gathers volume as something ominous this way comes. Red Dragon at large. If one were to stand outside, they would perhaps see a shimmer of red in the horizon, as if sunlight were relfecting upon crimson armor. Yet the night is pitch, and only the ethereal light of the many moons shines down upon the Wildlands tonight. As the thunder of wings continue to grow, and the glimmer in the horizon nears to form the sleek outline of a drake in flight, then can be no question as to what is finally paying Crown's Refuge a visit: Val'sharax. Wilesly looks up towards the ceiling. "Master Wolfsbane. Either one of us has found a particuarly nasty draft or we have a visitor.", Wilesly calls to Vhramis, moving back to poke his head into the window alcove. He comes out with a rather pale complexion and just nods lightly. "Inform the herald.", he murmurs. Vhramis pauses as well, taking a moment to listen to the approaching noise. The ranger's face seems to grow a touch more grim as well. "No point in telling the herald. He's not here to attack us," he tells the two, turning from hunting along the wall to move towards the Silvan Dimrost. "He's after this." He lays his hands on the smooth surface, blinking. "I've never touched it before. Could never bring myself to." He finally shakes his head and lifts it. Wind, Fire, all that kind of thing... However, as Vhramis takes the Silvan Dimrost, very little happens. Nothing, in fact, occurs at all. The orb is as cool as one might expect a sphere of quartz to be, and the wood stand remains secured to the table. "I found a draft." Dirk saids, after a long moment listening to the noise, dropping his hand back beneath the blanket. "Why does whatever that was want that thing for?" "Well Dirk, you may just want to ask him that when he arrives.", Wilesly replies, again looking out the window to watch the Drake's approach. He looks back over his shoulder to see what Vhramis is doing. "Uhm...Master Wolfsbane. What exactly happened to not...uhm...touching it?", Sly asks. Shaking his head slightly, Vhramis can't help but smirk as he stares down at the object. "Absolutely nothing," he mutters, glancing over to Dirk. "It's an artifact of considerable power. And I don't have much of a right to have it." He shrugs his shoulders and looks to Wilesly. "I was told to guard it. And so I did. Besides...he'd never fit inside here." The man takes a deep breath, casting a glance about the room. "Follow me if you wish. If you want to see something you're not likely to ever forget, that is. He'll know where I am just by me holding this, I assume." The man sets off towards the door, opening it. Dirk pauses for a second, then pulls up the blanket to form his makeshift hood again, and protecting him slightly from the biting cold as he follows Wolfsbane. Looks like he forgot the promise not to take Vhramis' blanket outside after all. As the night continues to press on - second following second, minute following minute - the thunder that is the beating of the wings of the Crimson Drake ebbs ever closer; each snap louder than the one before it, until a sharp *CRACK* rings out above Crown's Refuge, indicating that something very large has just stopped it's forward flight, the beats that follow indictive of a creature hovering... ...and then nothing. Though the region beyond the walls of Crown's Refuge are bathed in a soft red hue, there is no sound other than that of the creak of wooden homes and the soft hiss of a late night breeze. Until the screaming starts, followed by someone on the Palisade shouting something about the Crossroads at the base of Refuge Bluff... "Hurry," Vhramis snaps, the man more or less bolting out into the night, his own black hood being drawn overhead. Wolfsbane is already making all due haste to the palisade, ignoring the growing panic, the Silvan clutched protectively in his arms. Dirk does his best to keep up, booted feet kicking out from beneath the blanket-cloak, already dirtying the thread. Wilesly had bolted after the pair, barely having enough time to snatch up his hat from a nearby surface. "Lead the way, Master Wolfsbane.", Wilesly calls out, desperately trying to catch up with Vhramis and Dirk. He thanks the Light he doesn't have to carry around that damnable satchel. Vhramis Wolfsbane is little more than a dark shape running down the hill towards the Crossroads. A silhouette when put before the lights of the town of Crown's Refuge. Though the orb he holds in his arms catches glints of star and moonlight now and again, reflecting it dully. Dirk Stonechip is little more then a dark shape running down the hill -after- the other dark shape that is running toward the Crossroads. Occasionally, the blanket-cloak comes into stark focus when the light from Crossroad illuminates him, and one thing is becoming abudantly clear. The blankie? Not so clean anymore. Wilesly Sprigg, fearless expeditionary leader that he is is working hard to catch up with the two figures who bound down the hill. His hand rests at the pommel of his sword and the way he is running, it appears that he is either trying very hard to lose his sword or trying to keep his pants from falling down. "Come," Vhramis urges the pair as they rush along the last little way to the crossroads. ---- The Crossroads ---- ::Though currently not as much a literal "Cross" as a "T" junction in a somewhat beaten trail, the Crossroads is nevertheless more a symbolic name than an actual reference to the construction of the path beneath your feet. Symbolic, namely, in that it presents a crucial point in the decision making of those who happen upon it. ::The trail is, as one might expect, mostly a dull, rocky path that cuts through the otherwise lush grasslands that exist in this part of the region that is known as the Wildlands, north of the Snake Tangle. The trail breaks off into three distinct directions: ::To the North, the rolling grasslands gain elevation as they swiftly flow into an unforgiving sierra known as the Drake Breach, leading to the Dragonspine Ravine in the north, the fortress of Ebonhold that protects it, and the source of what eventually becomes the Jadesnake River. ::To the West, a hill known as Refuge Bluff acts as the foundation of a fledgling frontier Township, nestled at the northern most reach of a vast and ancient forest called the Verdigris, one that traces the path of the Jadesnake River's eastern shore, stretching seventy miles from north to south. ::Finally, to the South, the horrific nightmare of corrupted nature that is Snake Tangle can be found, complete with the somewhat harsh black-market trade route between the people of Crown's Refuge, and the city state of Fastheld. ---- Come not between the dragon, and his wrath... Sat back upon his haunches to the south of the "T" juction that makes up the main path of the young trail that has become known as the Crossroads - the name more symbolic than literal, it is said, due to the point being a choice between many different walks of destiny - the Crimson Drake known as Val'sharax waits with a patience forged from a life spent marching down the halls of immortality. What is five minutes to a Dragon, after all? Yet, though the posture he has adopted can be compared to how a well bred feline might sit, the grace and elegance of that feline could only pale in comparison to the eternal magnificence of the Crimson Drake. At one hundred feet in length - fifty of which spanning his tail, currently coiled around him and flicking with idle apathy - he is indeed a sight to behold. Fan-like ears perk towards every sound and motion, falling back against that wedge-shaped head as a young couple might lazily fall upon soft grasses during the summer. Amber eyes, as deep as oblivion as sharpened to a fine edge with ancient wisdom and malevolence - smolder within the depths of his visage, flanked by the many perfect rows of aciculate teeth within that vast and powerful jaw. His wings - themselves as long as his tail - remain furled and foled upon his black like a cloak of dark scarlet; the leather of those cliques evidently a darker shade of crimson that the metallic sheen of the polished scales that shimmer in the light of the moons above, bathing the region directly below and around Val'sharax in a bittersweet radiance of iridescant rose. Talons as salient as seraphite twitch upon the ends of his claws, while the horned rills that flow from the back of his head add the final touches of dramatic splendor to what can only be a creature as venerable as he is august. Those eyes fall upon the party from Crown's Refuge as they draw near; an aura of cold fear surrounding the air about him - Drakesfear, as it is named by those in Ebonhold who have felt it's icy touch - as he regards the adventurers, tilting his head to the left as a snarl of pure amusement curls around his maw. Rar indeed. "And so how far along in this plan are we, Master Wolfsbane?", Wilesly asks rather breathlessly just as he nearly bowls over Vhramis coming to a halt, his eyes playing nervously across a sight he could not have pictured in dreams or nightmares. His hand comes up to his hat as if to secure it. Vhramis almost misses a step as he catches the sight of the massive Drake once again. Not so long ago since he last saw it, but a creature such as that could most likely be seen thousands of times and still inspire just as much awe and fear. Clutching the orb a bit tighter to him, the man mutters a warning, "One joke, Wilesly, and light help me..." Dirk rambles to a stop to stare at the dragon, marvelling in the marvelous. Stupafied by the stupendous. Oogling the oogle-worthy. Staring at the awe inspiring. Generally, his jaw hangs unhinge, and his eyes bulge, inspecting the red colossus with all the respect it's grandoise stature and air of invincibility claims right too. "Who's joking?", Wilesly murmurs mostly to himself, his sudden talkativeness perhaps brought on in an effort to mask the tension on his face. Another quick glance over the Drake has him frowning, "Light help us, indeed." "Well?" The amused snarl falls back into something closer to general indifference; an expression which is only by the eternally amused light that burns within those cold amber eyes. His ears perk and remain high as the three Fastheldians draw closer, his own stance - that feline posture - faltering little. All the while, the spade at the tip of his tail flicks back and forth, as quietly as a sleeping kitten. A kitten that could lash out and sweep away Crown's Refuge in a heartbeat, but a kitten all the same. His folded wings twitch with anticipation. Swallowing heavily, and steeling himself for yet another interaction, the ranger steps forward, approaching the massive creature. "I have it, as you wanted. As we agreed," he says, struggling to keep the tremble from his voice. And his knees. Drawing as close as he dare, he drops to his knees and holds out the orb, offering it up. Wilesly continues to hold his hat to his head, and his knees remain bent as if some sudden feet of agility could save him from any number of terrible fates the Drake before him could inflict. He watches the scene with unbreakable interest. Dirk, on the other hand, continues staring at the Dragon with no thought beyond the obvious one; Wow, that is a big lizard. A tongue slides out, licking at suddenly dry lips, face still hidden behind the blanket's imprompt hood. A hiss of contempt answers Vhramis as the Crimson Drake watches him fall to his knees, followed by an all too familiar /sigh/ as those sharp amber eyes sweep towards the heavens; the Dragon obviously not impressed by such acts of submission. "Oh get up." he rumbles, looking back to Vhramis, and then looking upon each of his comrades in turn. That snarl of amusement again claws at the corners of his maw. "That is the Silvan Dimrost, I assume?" he asks, his voice akin to soft thunder in the horizon upon a summer evening. One might assume he already knows it is, given the tone of that voice, and the knowing look in his gaze. "Either that or a very pretty vas...", Wilesly murmurs to himself but catches himself in the process and keeps his lips sealed. He shifts his eyes slightly as if contemplating the chances of the Dragon picking up on his words. "...get up?" Vhramis blinks, looking up to the Drake's face with a blink. "Last time I...er...right..." Why did he start to question Val'sharax again? Who knows. The ranger rises to his feet, looking fairly sheepish now, and reaches a hand down to wipe at the knees of his pants. "Yes. This is it. I didn't bring the stand, though. But I didn't think you meant to put it on display." Dirk nose wrinkles, face twisting slightly. Oh no. His brown eyes clench tight, his mouth puckers, he even presses a finger underneath the offending body part. All to no avail. The solemn meeting between a god and fearful mortals is broken by a body-shaking sneeze. "Excuse me...." A deep rumble of draconian mirth rolls through the night air. The tail of the one named Val'sharax ceases to twitch. "No, Vhramis Wolfsbane. I intend to destroy it, or those who have been subject to the use of an item that should not be in Human hands." One might find the casual tone of his voice as he states his intentions to either destroy the orb, *or* the people who have - and may still - use the Silvan Dimrost a little disturbing. Not Val'sharax, however. "And nor is it a mere vase, Wilesly Sprigg." he states, abruptly casting his gaze upon the Expedition Leader, and then back upon Vhramis once more. The sneeze is, perhaps mercifully, ignored. "And what of your mate, Vhramis Wolfsbane? Is she still here, or has she since used the Gateway to ret..." he trails off, eyes narrowing a little as he considers... ah... "Your *companion* now, is she? Love found and lost to... the other who has used the Silvan Dimrost. Talus Kahar? Yes, Talus Kahar... his name is etched upon your mind as clear as that of Ashlynn Birch." Keeper of Names indeed... "Oh. Erm. Right.", is all Wilesly manages to murmur, not quite sure how the Dragon heard him in the first place or even knew his name. He looks to his left and his right for a moment, before he realizes that standing as if ready to jump out of the way is rather tiring and not befitting a leader. If they are to die, after all, he might aswell be comfortable. A polite smile is sent towards the Dragon, though it fades slightly at mention of wanton destruction. Vhramis is probably thankful that he's facing away from the two who came with him, as the wince on his face in response to those words is likely quite clear to the Drake he's looking up to. Quite disturbing to the ranger is the ability for the Red to read his mind and past as if he's nothing more than a notation scribbled as an afterthought in some grand book. "Don't speak of that," he answers a bit sharply, before his audience is remembered and he adds on a hasty and respectful, "...please, I beg. She is back in Fastheld. You won't harm her, will you?" "He knew your name." Dirk whispers to Sly, seeming to have recovered from his body's ill timed fit and his awe of the Dragon enough to talk. "You've talked to him before?" He does glance back at the mention of mates, and compatriots, and harming somebody though. Wilesly raises an eyebrow a bit further into the conversation as he ignores Dirk for the moment. Birch. Talus Kahar. Yep. That's going into the report or at least the unofficial one. "Mine is not to negate on deals, Vhramis Wolfsbane." Val'sharax darkly intones, apparently slightly vexed that such a suggestion, no matter how slight it might have been, could have been made against him. His eyes narrow with ominous intent. "IF", he hisses between sharp teeth, "you uphold your end. Place the Silvan Dimrost upon the ground." The twitch of his wings ceases for a moment, and - after a few seconds of augural silence - the tip of his begins to lazily twitch once more. Spade and all. When he speaks again, his voice is once more a soft rumble of contained power. "The High Shadow that Zan'asharan enchanted within them shall be destroyed away from Human eyes. Now, the Silvan Nevrast. It is with this Talus Kahar, I am to assume?" Stepping a bit to the side, Vhramis bends and sets the orb on the ground, holding it steady for a moment to ensure that it doesn't roll away. "It is with him. In his chambers," the man confirms, giving a nod to the Drake before taking quick steps to get as far from the orb as possible. Wilesly takes a singular step backwards to be on the safe side. His lips are pursed as he silently files away the events of the night to be later recorded. For now a frown seems to be permanently drawn over his lips. "Um. Excuse me?" Dirk mutters from his corner, face still hidden by the hood of his blankie-cloak. Though the thin barrier may not be any protection for his identity anyway, considering who he's speaking to. "Are you going to fly back to Fastheld to, like, pick up this Silvan Navrast thing from the Emperor?" Apparently satisfied with the answer that Vhramis offers in return, the Crimson Drake merely inclines his head in a gesture of affirmation and then looks upon the Orb. Intently looks it. Eyes narrowing as he regards the item of power as a creature to be fought and battled with. He snarls deeply, and in a flash of light as dark as the midnight sky - an impossible colour of light indeed! - the orb is simply banished. To where, who can say? The task done, and Ashlynn's life apparently mostly safe once more, Val'sharax shifts his gaze to regard Dirk with cold intent. "What of it?" he deeply questions. Vhramis looks to Dirk as well, almost sharply, an expression of disbelief and possibly even mild annoyance on his face. Though most likely his attention isn't what should be concerning the miner at the moment. "Um." Dirk saids, shuffling uncomfortably underneath his blanke-cloak, as if regretting speaking. "Well, nothing, really. Just wouldn't that upset alot of people? I mean, Fastheld doesn't seem to like.. uhhhm, Dragons flying over them. Much. Though they might not mind you. Cause." No reason for the cause is expressed, more of a placeholder to end his rambling. Like a period. ''"Do I '''LOOK like someone who CARES?"'' Apparently annoyed at the suggestion that his plan to recover the second of a High Shadow artifact might somehow be set aside because of a few mewling kittens, of people being /upset/ that he might fly over them and interrupt their little lives, the tone of the Crimson Drake is harsh indeed, set atop a backdrop of a low and resonant snarl. In a display of agility that befits his sleek form, Val'shark shifts from his sitting posture and moves to all fours in the bredth of a heartbeat; wings promptly spread and held high together above his back. "Idiot!" Vhramis hisses, breaking out into a flat run to get away from the Drake and his imminent launch. No doubt something that large taking off will cause quite a bit of wind, and he doesn't much care to be thrown head over feet. "No." Dirk saids in a voice low enough to be suited for a mouse's squeak, however deep the voice naturally is. When Vhramis takes off running, he starts taking cautious steps back, or rather... nearly trips over himself as his feet backpeddle rapidly to keep himself into a perpetual movement of backwards and away. "Death be thy compass, Dirk Stonechip." The words upon which that dire warning are as cold as oblivion itself, abounding besides a tone of cruel ascendancy and an inflection of ancient animosity. Where once stood a force of nature amicable enough to answer the questions of those willing to find the courage to ask them, now exists only a maelstrom of ominous intent and personal drive. Meddle not in the affairs of Dragons, for you are small, and flesh is flammable. Tendrils of smoke rise from the muzzle of Val'sharax the Abritrator, but the affront is apparently contained enough so that Crown's Refuge still stands a few seconds later. In the wake of Those That Flee Angry Drakes, the Crimson Drake rars up, beats those thunderous wings with direct resolve, lashes his tail across and to the side, and with a mighty leap of raw powers, launches himself skywards! Vhramis spins about to watch the Drake take flight, the drakefear once again setting upon him. Sinking past skin and chilling through bone. "He meant no offense!" the ranger shouts in a plea, lifting an arm to shield his eyes against the debris of dust and rocks kicked up by the launching of Val'sharax. "He doesn't understand!" Dry mouth, frozen limbs, eyes following the path of the dragon. A mouse before the cat? Sure. A mouse before the cat that bears claw, flames, time, and alot of weight to bear against a question innocently asked, an answer coming forth, but with what punctuation? Aloft upon the storm of dust and debris that he kicks up in his wake, the heavy crack of Val'sharax's wings once again thunders across the night sky, the crimson drake soaring towards the western horizon, his reflection refracted upon the shimmering surface of the Jadesnake as he sweeps over the river, long sinuous tail trailing behind him. A few lazy beats of those very same scarlet wings sends him into a banking turn, one that levels out as the Arbitator faces in the direction of Crown's Refuge once more, claws and talons held close to his body as his sleek form darts through the air, jaws widening as he angles towards the outpost, amber eyes smoldering with cold intent. One low pass... ...and then nothing. The Drake again angles, jaw closing to reveal an snarl upon his snout that one can only describe as highly amused. As he slowly turns towards the south - and the realm of Fastheld beyond - one might also swear blind that the drake is laughing. And none can deny the sly wink he blessed upon Vhramis as he flew over... Vhramis stares bleakly as the dragon makes it's pass on Crown's Refuge...and then as he banks again and makes wing off to Fastheld. Was that a wink? The man's legs seem to wobble, before he falls back to take a seat on the cold ground, staring up to watch Val'sharax disappear into the distance. Dirk just stands still for a moment, every part of his body locked into frozen horror. Then the shoulders shake, lungs rattling as he releases a breath that chilled his heart and burned coming up, nearly choking on something without tangible substance. "I... want to go home." ---- ''Return to Season 4 (2006) Category:Logs